


boy, you're gonna carry that weight

by ViScribbler



Series: sweet prince [1]
Category: Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Character(s) of Color, Everyone Is Gay, Framed Story Structure, Gen, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon, and is now on trial for it, basically horatio killed claudius, casual pirate mentions, fortinbras: i hate it here, giving characters with like three lines fleshed out backstories, more exploration of narrative foils than anyone ever asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24015310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViScribbler/pseuds/ViScribbler
Summary: The few couriers left at the scene unharmed couldn’t decide on a consistent explanation for the deaths- only that it involved trickery, poison, an ill-fated fencing match and an insane prince. All of them, however, could tell him who it was who stuck the blow that killed the king: the strange man he’d found holding the prince’s body.Horatio. That was his name.Fortinbras, newly burdened with the title of King of Denmark, visits a prisoner in hopes of getting the full story of what really happened the day he arrived to find the royal family murdered.
Relationships: Hamlet/Horatio
Series: sweet prince [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1417816
Comments: 17
Kudos: 51





	boy, you're gonna carry that weight

On his march to Elsinore, Fortinbras had expected to lead a bloody, but hopefully short, battle for the Danish throne. Denmark was still in disarray from the last king’s death, which made it ripe for the taking. Fortinbras was not a violent man by nature, and normally wouldn’t endorse challenging a nation stumbling to get back on its feet, but he was also a man of honor, and would not let those who killed his father get away with it, even if his direct murderer was already dead. While he didn’t have the pleasure of killing the late King Hamlet himself, his brother now sat on the throne, and Fortinbras had enough vengeance within him to justify ripping it from him in an untimely manner. 

Not that he needed to justify it, or that he really had any choice in the matter. His nation expected him to seek revenge for the killing of his namesake, and he was truly at the mercy of his people, as he believed all good kings should be. It should’ve been simple; his army would arrive at Elsinore, where the king’s kin resided, defeat their unprepared army, and Fortinbras himself would slay King Claudius and prove his worth to his people and the world and, hopefully, his father’s restless spirit.

That was not how it happened.

Fortinbras arrived at the tail end of a seemingly quick and unexpected coup, for Claudius was not quite the king his brother was but certainly not an disliked one. It seemed his nephew, the second Hamlet, was the instigator, but he too, was dead, found cradled in the arms of a strange, foreign-looking man. The queen dead, as well, and another, young Hamlet’s apparent fencing opponent- Fortinbras was no stranger to bloodshed in war, but the crime scene certainly took the cake for the _strangest_ he’d ever seen, not to mention the least bloody for the amount of bodies it produced. Poison, it was discovered, which answered nothing.

Oh, and by Prince Hamlet’s dying breath, Fortinbras was now the king of this chaotic land, as if one wasn’t enough. Which also meant he was in charge of punishing those who had killed Claudius- the very man he had come to kill. It was all exceedingly strange. Still, he took his duties in stride, as he always did. The few couriers left at the scene unharmed couldn’t decide on a consistent explanation for the deaths- only that it involved trickery, poison, an ill-fated fencing match and an insane prince. All of them, however, could tell him who it was who stuck the blow that killed the king: the strange man he’d found holding the prince’s body.

Horatio. That was his name. 

The dungeons of Elsinore were dark and grim, as all good dungeons ought to be, but spoke more of a lack of use than of a history of bloody imprisonment. Cobwebs lurked in every corner, and dust coated every surface. This was a castle that had not seen a recent need to imprison those that resided within its own walls. In fact, this Horatio was the only current prisoner. As such, he was placed in the cell far at the end of the floor, the furthest from escape. Not that he had shown much of a disposition for that.

The guard that accompanied him, Marcellus, had become somewhat of his right hand man amongst the chaos of the past week. He seemed to have a more intimate knowledge of the events that led up to the coup than the others at the palace- Fortinbras suspected even more than he’d let on. However, he wasn’t present at the actual scene of the murder, so he could not offer his astute commentary on that particular piece of work. He was an unusual looking man, with inky black hair kept in a low ponytail, and glistening golden eyes that gave him an almost Egyptian appearance. For a country Fortinbras presumed to be full of fair-haired people identical to those of Norway, Elsinore had proven itself to have more of a range between the faces of its residents than Fortinbras would have guessed.

Fortinbras had only known Marcellus a week, no longer than any of the Danes, but he perceived him to be a good man. He took pride in his intuition, so he hoped he was correct, because he rather liked Marcellus, a very clean-cut man in a country where everything seemed shrouded in mystery. He appeared to be somewhat saddened by the recent events, not in the manner of a patriot mourning his king, but in a more personal way. That particular gloominess was especially evident as they descended the stairs to the dungeon.

“Did you know the prince Hamlet, Marcellus?” he decided to ask, taking care to keep his voice soft.

It was a ruse of a question, really. He knew he did. Another guard had informed him that Marcellus had been a personal guard to Hamlet since he was a lad. Marcellus kept his gaze downcast, drawing his mouth into a tight line before answering.

“I did, my lord,” Marcellus answered.

For a moment that seemed to be it, an answer which Fortinbras would have accepted. But then he added,

“I considered him near a friend.”

Therein lay the source of his sorrow, then. He ought not to pry, but he did anyway.

“And the prisoner, Horatio?” he asked. “Did you know him?”

This seemed to catch Marcellus off guard, though he maintained his composure. They reached the end of the stairs before he answered.

“I did as well, though only for a year or so,” he said carefully. “And I… thought him a good man.”

And there was the rub with this Horatio. In all respects, a good man.

The dungeons, while they had evidently not seen much use as of late, appeared to be built with the intent to be used often, as they were quite spacious. It was a bit of a walk to reach the very back, where Horatio’s cell was, during the length of which Fortinbras questioned Marcellus no more. His boots made hardly any sound against the stone floor, the thin coat of dust muffling the steps. So it was no surprise Horatio hadn’t been awoken by their approach.

He was asleep on the floor, which made sense since the hard bench was likely not long enough to accommodate for his lanky frame. He was curled in an almost fetal position, one arm tucked underneath his head, somewhat awkwardly, since his hands were chained together. He looked almost serene while he slept, despite the bags under his eyes. He was a strangely beautiful man, with his high cheekbones and dark features. His dark curls framed his face in a pleasant way.

He pulled the ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the cell, the clanging of the door opening startling the prisoner awake. Marcellus held his spear at the ready in case he were to make a run for it, but he seemed to do this more out of procedure than actually expecting him to bolt. Horatio sat up slowly as Fortinbras entered the cell and dropped the burlap sack he’d brought at his feet.

“Good morning, Horatio,” he greeted him evenly, sitting on the bench. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

In fact, he hadn’t seen him since he had ordered the guards to drag him away from the body of the prince. He had put up quite a fight for such a slight man. He looked even more gaunt now, which he supposed a week in near solitary confinement would do to someone. Horatio regarded him blurrily, blinking a couple times as if trying to get him in focus. He was awfully poised for someone in his situation, sitting up straight and meeting Fortinbras’s gaze.

“You-” his voice was raspy, and he cleared his throat into his fist. “Sorry. You don’t need to introduce yourself, my lord.”

“I think I will anyway, if that’s alright,” Fortinbras replied airily. “I’m Fortinbras, your very confused new king, and for the record, I wasn’t the biggest fan of the last king, either. Forgive me for taking so long to visit, but I’ve been quite busy between trying to manage both Denmark and Norway.”

Horatio regarded him curiously.

“That’s alright,” he said. “I wasn’t exactly expecting a visit. I mean, I am a traitor to the country.”

He said the phrase so calmly, as if he was at peace with it. Fortinbras inclined his head slightly.

“That is true,” he agreed. “A country that, up until a week ago, I was an enemy of as well.”

He gestured to the burlap sack.

“That’s for you, y’know. I wasn’t aware they were starving you.”

Horatio seemed to notice the sack for the first time, chains clanking as he opened it up. He saw his tired eyes light up a little at the contents.

“Thank you, my lord,” he said, taking out the bread and tearing into it hungrily.

Fortinbras chuckled.

“You’re the politest prisoner I’ve ever met,” he said. “Normally there’s a lot more cussing involved.”

Horatio smiled slightly, but he was more focused on the bread than talking, which Fortinbras understood. He must be starving. There was something exceedingly mature about him, yes, but it seemed to be in a way beyond his years, because Fortinbras estimated him to be at least a couple years younger than him. Something about seeing him tearing off pieces of bread with his hands while sitting cross-legged on the floor, however much decorum he managed to maintain, really drove home that youth. To think that this boy was guilty of regicide seemed laughable. And yet, that was the one thing the couriers were certain on. Horatio had been the one to do it.

“How old are you, Horatio?” Fortinbras asked curiously.

“About twenty,” Horatio answered. Then, with a thin smile, “honestly, my lord, I’ve lost track of the days as of late, so I’m not quite sure.”

“When’s your birthday?” Fortinbras inquired.

Horatio politely covered his mouth to speak, as he had taken another bite.

“The 15th of April.”

Fortinbras shook his head slightly.

“It’s the 8th,” he said. “So not quite yet.”

“Ah.”

Horatio finished the last of his bread, tidily brushing the crumbs off him back into the burlap sack, chains clinking together softly at the motion.

“Your Danish is excellent,” Fortinbras commented.

Horatio grimaced slightly. Outside the cell, Marcellus coughed, which Fortinbras suspected covered a laugh.

“I should hope so, since it is my first language,” he said curtly.

Fortinbras felt heat rise to his face.

“My sincere apologies,” he said. “I had just-”

“Assumed, yeah, it happens all the time,” Horatio assured him. “Don’t worry about it, my lord. Marcellus here did the same.”

Marcellus, the ever dedicated guard, did not break his sentry by turning around, but he did chuckle.

“Your Danish should be the one to be commended,” Horatio said.

Fortinbras waved a hand dismissively.

“Ah, don’t flatter me,” he said. “For the amount of years I’ve spent studying the language, my accent is atrocious. You Danes are just all too polite to say so.”

Horatio smiled at that, but his expression then dropped slowly.

“Forgive me for asking, my lord, but what was the purpose of this visit?” he asked carefully. “I’d be a bit surprised if it was just to chat.”

Fortinbras nodded slowly.

“Of course,” he said. “I’m here because I take justice seriously, and something unsettles me about arriving in a new country and being expected to punish someone for a situation I don’t understand. I’ve spoken with the couriers who were present at the scene, and no one can give me the whole story. I suspect that the only ones who understood what happened are either you, or dead.”

Horatio stared at the floor of the cell silently for a moment. He sniffed, and Fortinbras realized he was blinking back tears.

“Horatio,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry,” Horatio said, voice thin. “I just-”

He sat back against the wall, wiping away tears.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Just, whenever I think of him, this starts all over again.”

He laughed dryly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

“You mean…?” Fortinbras asked gingerly.

“Prince Hamlet,” Horatio nodded. “I loved him very much. We were… good friends.”

Fortinbras remembered the tender way he had found Horatio cradling his body, the way his sobs had spoken of a heartbreak that stabbed at Fortinbras’s gut. He had stayed like that for a good half hour while he spoke with the couriers and tried to understand the situation, and when he eventually had to order for his imprisonment, he fought like hell to stay by the prince’s side. Once he was dragged away, though, he became compliant. It seemed to not be the imprisonment he was fighting, but, rather, being separated from Hamlet.

Fortinbras swallowed hard. Hamlet’s body had been buried, given a soldier’s funeral. Horatio hadn’t been there. That was the last time he would ever see him. That was the sad thing, really. No one at the funeral truly knew Hamlet. Marcellus was probably the one who knew him best out of those present. All those who had loved Hamlet were dead and gone, or locked in a dungeon and on trial for treason. He decided he would skip that detail, for Horatio’s sake.

“Look,” he said, after giving Horatio a moment. “I understand that this may be hard. But I need you to help me understand what happened that day, and why.”

Horatio chewed his bottom lip for a moment, then gave that same tired laugh.

“It’s a very long and very convoluted story,” he said. “Practically Homeric. I’m not sure if I even know all of what happened. I don’t know if the _prince_ fully knew.”

“Well, you know better than anyone in this kingdom,” Fortinbras reasoned. “And your trial isn’t for a couple days. I’ll hear an epic, if that’s what it takes to understand the situation better. Because right now, I am thoroughly baffled.”

Horatio nodded slowly. 

“I honestly don’t know how much of the tale is fit for your ears, my lord,” he admitted, seeming slightly ashamed.

Fortinbras snorts.

“I’ve seen war and destruction beyond the imagination of any Dane,” he said dismissively. “I saw my own father slain in front of me by the first Hamlet. I can handle whatever your story contains.”

Horatio’s eyes widened.

“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “I had no idea.”

“That’s why I came here,” Fortinbras explained. “To enact revenge. My father’s real murderer was dead, but I planned to take the throne from Claudius. Which I have, I suppose.”

He touched the crown on his head lightly, as if it wasn’t quite real. It was a lightweight gold, still impressive looking, but not a burden upon him. He frowned, removing his hand.

“Perhaps that was rather cruel of me,” he reflected. “After all, my father is still dead. It was what was expected of me, though.”

Horatio was looking at him curiously. His mouth slowly crept into a small smile.

“Sorry, my lord,” he said, for about the twentieth time. “You’re just a dreadful lot like him.”

Fortinbras was strangely touched.

“Dreadful indeed,” he said. “Both on a futile path to revenge. From what I’ve garnered, anyhow.”

“And I suppose you’ve both achieved it,” Horatio mused, staring down at his shackles. “But not by either of your hands.”

Horatio’s gaze was on the hands that did succeed in killing Fortinbras and Hamlet’s common enemy. The air in the cell seemed heavy, as if it was a solid thing.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Fortinbras said lightly. “The result is the same.”

The heaviness in the room did not ease, nor did the gloom in Horatio’s eyes.

“You didn’t want to do it,” Fortinbras said eventually.

Horatio absently scratched at the area where the shackles covered his wrist.

“Not at all,” he admitted. “I never thought I would… never dreamt I was the kind person who _could…_ but…”

“So why did you?” Fortinbras asked, keeping his voice level.

Horatio thought for only a moment.

“For Hamlet,” he said, voice raw.

Something clicked in Fortibras’s mind after hearing the answer, so potent in its simplicity. There was a subtle gleam in Horatio’s dark eyes when he said his name, an unspeakable devotion in his tone. A force strong enough to drive Horatio to do things he previously thought out of the question.

“You loved him very much,” Fortinbras observed.

Horatio blinked, then shifted uncomfortably.

“Of course,” he said evenly. “As a friend and as my prince.”

“And no more?” Fortinbras questioned, raising his brow.

Horatio’s face seemed to darken high in his cheekbones. Fortinbras had never seen someone of his complexion flush, but that seemed to be the case. He studied the ground very carefully for it being a completely featureless stone floor.

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, my lord,” Horatio stammered, though Fortinbras knew he had struck to the crux of the situation.

“Horatio,” Fortinbras said, feeling a lot like he was trying not to startle a wild animal. “I want to know the full truth. I’m not here to call for your damnation. I simply want to understand your motives the best I can.”

Horatio seemed to grapple with his own mind for a minute, then exhaled with a nervous laugh.

“I suppose when you’re already charged with treason, it doesn’t quite matter if you’re charged with sodomy as well.”

He rubbed a hand over his face exhaustedly.

“Christ,” he mumbled. “Hamlet never cared if anyone knew, but- I never wanted to… I guess, sully his legacy. He already cemented himself a title as the mad prince. I never wanted to add to that.”

“I’m not going to charge you with sodomy,” Fortinbras said firmly. “Nor am I going to disparage the image of the late prince.”

He did not speak of his own strange feelings when confronted with nights sleeping close to the warm bodies of his fellow soldiers in war, nor the way his heart seemed to develop an irregular beat when the well-built stable boy at his palace in Norway gave him a sideways glance and a knowing smile. He was set to marry a handsome young noblewoman with golden hair and ample curves, and he loved her and found her beautiful, and would commit to her and marry her for his kingdom- kingdoms now, he supposed- and that was that.

There was a certain bravery he admired about Prince Hamlet, in his ability to be brash and bold and staunchly _not_ what a prince was expected to be. He had grown up knowing of the royal families of all their enemies and allies alike, as was expected of him, and the young Hamlet was always simply the intelligent only child of the Danes, sure to grow up and be an analytical and fair king. The ruler of Denmark was elected, but as a well-regarded member of the royal family, there was not much of a question that Hamlet would be king, as his father and namesake before him.

His reputation had changed drastically in the months following his father’s death. Having been carefully monitoring the royal family’s politics as he plotted his revenge, Fortinbras learned of his descent to insanity week by week, getting stranger and stranger updates as time progressed. The strangest part, the part he would never admit to anyone, was the way he understood. He, too, felt the anger at his remaining family, at his advisors, at his country and the world as a whole. He felt the anger at the seasons changing, at the Earth continuing to turn, for wars to continue to rage on when his spirit had been so utterly crushed by seeing his father’s throat slit in front of him. But he didn’t act on it. He couldn’t. He shucked off his mourning clothes, put on a diplomatic smile, and planned his revenge in the calculated way that was expected of him. Even if there was something feral and animalistic in him, he didn’t dare let it show. Hamlet let his pain be known, made others uncomfortable with it. And he was punished for it. Fortinbras remembered seeing the wildness in his eyes when he’d seen him at the docks.

It was the only time he’d seen Hamlet alive, and he was being escorted to his ship to his imprisonment in England. There were guards flanking him- Marcellus might’ve even been one of them. He doesn’t remember. All he remembered was Hamlet’s face, blighted with a fresh black eye, clothes a uniform black and golden hair whipping wildly in the maritime wind. He’d made eye contact with Fortinbras, head held high, unafraid and unrelenting, with something smoldering in the blue of his eyes. And Fortinbras understood him. And perhaps he’d imagined it, but he felt that Hamlet understood him, too. As the guards hurried him along, clearly embarrassed of the display of their mad prince to a foreign leader, Hamlet had turned to say something to his companion, a tall, Moroccan looking man with curly black hair and plain clothes.

“We’ve met once before,” he told a still distraught-looking Horatio once he realized.

Horatio looked at him in surprise.

“I know,” he said. “I didn’t think you recalled.”

“It was brief, and I was mostly focused on the prince,” Fortinbras admitted. “But I just realized you were there too. Seeing him off to England?”

Horatio shook his head.

“Well, sort of,” he amended. “I thought. But I changed my mind. Someone convinced me I should accompany him, and I did.”

“How was England?” Fortinbras asked conversationally.

“Truth be told, my lord, I spent about a minute on English soil before the pirates came,” Horatio answered casually.

Fortinbras blinked, unsure if the language barrier was causing him to miss some idiom or sarcasm or the like.

“Sorry, pirates?” he clarified, brow furrowed in confusion.

Horatio dropped his head onto his knees for a second. For a second Fortinbras thought he had upset him, but then he heard him laugh. Horatio seemed to laugh a lot. Perhaps it was some sort of awkward tic, or a means to ease tension.

“Like I said, it’s a terribly long story,” he chuckled.

“I’ll hear it,” Fortinbras said quickly. “All of it. Even if it wasn’t for the trial, you’ve dropped enough details that I’m thoroughly intrigued.”

Horatio frowned.

“I’m no bard,” he said doubtfully. “And I’m sure you’ve got more important things to attend to, my lord.”

“You’ve got about a half hour before your meeting with the Finnish ambassador,” Marcellus informed him, reminding Fortinbras that he was still present.

Fortinbras smoothed his hair back thoughtfully.

“I’ll hear as much as you can tell today,” he said finally. “And then I’ll come back tomorrow. And the next day, and every day until your trial if needed, whenever I have time. So don’t rush. I need a break from the couriers and their self-serving flattery, anyway.”

Horatio bit his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“I hardly know where to begin,” he confessed after a moment. “It seems that the whole thing started back when I met the prince, when I had no idea it would culminate into all this.”

“Then start there,” Fortinbras said. “How did you meet?”

Horatio gave a small, fond smile. Fortinbras gestured for Marcellus to sit, which he did, reluctantly. Fortinbras himself shifted to a more comfortable position on the hard bench, resting his head in his hand and settled down to listen.

“Well, it all started at Wittenberg.”

**Author's Note:**

> this whole thing was inspired by an 1886 mexican production of hamlet, "hamlet, arreglo a la escena espanõla del célèbre drama tragico de william shakespeare". the production changed many things about the original text, but most interestingly, to me at least, was the decision to have horatio be the one to kill claudius in the end, instead of horatio. i loved that idea, and the implications it had both for hamlet's inability to carry out the revenge he was tasked with, and for how far horatio would go for hamlet. this explores what the aftermath of that might look like.
> 
> this is also a prologue of sorts (????) to my "sweet prince" series, which is really just a collection of self indulgent hamlet ficlets with all follow the same canon divergences but can all be read as stand-alones. feel free to check out the other ones if you want!
> 
> thanks for reading! if u kudos or comment we r legally married now no take backs :)


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